


It's only a fantasy

by serenityxdragon



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 03:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17459363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityxdragon/pseuds/serenityxdragon
Summary: Battles makes heat rise under her skin. It comes out in her rage, raw, cold fury that propels her forward, makes her stronger. Faster. It comes out in her reckless strikes, when fighting seems the only way to rid herself of the buzzing energy. But beyond that, when the battle ends early and her rage calms but the heat remains, it comes out under her fingers as she brings herself softly to a climax.Or: Yasha doesn't know how to feel about Beau, but Beau knows how she feels about Yasha.





	It's only a fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> So there are issues with consent in this fic, but they're both trying their best. If you're sensitive to that I want to make sure you know ahead of time. Also some mentions of death but not any more graphic than descriptions in the show. Love u

Battles makes heat rise under her skin. It comes out in her rage, raw, cold fury that propels her forward, makes her stronger. Faster. It comes out in her reckless strikes, when fighting seems the only way to rid herself of the buzzing energy. But beyond that, when the battle ends early and her rage calms but the heat remains, it comes out under her fingers as she brings herself softly to a climax.

She’s never that loud, and it isn’t too often that she feels that undeniable need, so it’s never the slightest bit of a problem with the Mighty Nein. After a rough battle, everyone tends to go off on their own, so she’s no exception. Jester helps heal what she can, and then everyone nurses whatever wounds are left over. Beau makes some remark that’s borderline flirtatious, but doesn’t quite hit the mark because she’s too exhausted to make an effort.

Oh, Beau. Yasha remembers today’s comment- something about her sword- and she chuckles under her breath. Then her fingers swipe over her clit and she reminds herself to stay focused. Her mind goes where it usually does- her memories of Zuala, which are painful and comforting all at once. A gentle hand over her own calloused one. She can almost feel it, and she closes her eyes to relax into the safety of her lover.

Instead, the face she sees in the dark is Beau’s, intense and wanting, and she instantly pulls her hand away and opens her eyes with a gasp that has little to do with arousal. She wipes her hand on her leg and pulls up her pants, ignoring the way her whole body is on edge.

Betrayal. The first thing that flashes into her mind is the image of Zuala’s face, and shame floods her body until she feels nauseous. Fantasizing about Beau would be so easy. Of course she is attractive, objectively speaking. She is beautiful. But she’s not Yasha’s.

She was open about her attraction to other women when she was with Zuala, as Zuala was with hers, because there was no chance of either of them pursuing relationships with other people. They were on the same page about that, but now that Zuala is- now that Zuala is not by her side, there is no consent for any of this.

Yasha sticks her knuckles into her mouth and tries not to cry.

* * *

 

Yasha is tense the entire week. Every glance from Beau has her on edge. She isn’t sure if Beau has noticed, although if she hasn’t, it’s only a matter of time before she does. Yasha does many things well, like killing things and cracking her knuckles in an intimidating way, but subtlety? No.

When bandits ambush their party on their way to the next city, she finds herself racing ahead of everyone, cutting all four of them down in less than twelve seconds. They barely have a chance to get a hit in.

She stands there, her chest heaving, while Beau and the rest of them gawk at her. She’s still bristling, and maybe it’s her imagination, but the rage takes longer to fade. Beau shuffles closer to her, putting her hand gently on Yasha’s forearm after a moment of unresponsiveness. The simple touch sends a jolt through her, and she takes a step back, then finally sheathes her blade.

“What was that?” Beau says, and Yasha isn’t sure what to say.

“Yeah, Yasha!” Jester yells, pumping her fists in the air.

She moves mechanically back towards their cart, and Caleb claps her on the shoulder as she climbs in. Beau takes the front this time, and Yasha isn’t sure if she’s imagining Beau’s furtive glances back at her. Yasha puts her hand over a small cut on her arm and watches the healing energy knit the skin back together.

“You look tense,” Caduceus says. Yasha looks at him, sitting there with his knees shoved up awkwardly into his chest. “Would you like some tea, when we stop for the night?”

“Oh, sure,” Yasha says, glancing over at Beau, who is watching the passing fields.

“Do you want a massage?” Jester says. “I am very good with my hands.”

“Oh, _you’re_ very good with your hands,” Beau says automatically, and Yasha fails to suppress a small smile.

“No, really, Yasha, if you want.”

It sounds nice, but it wouldn’t help the problems she’s having. When the touch of other people is the thing that makes you tense, a massage is decidedly less than helpful. “No, thank you, Jester,” Yasha says. ‘It’s, uh, it’s very nice of you. To offer.”

“Do you need any more healing?”

“Uhh,” Yasha takes only a moment to think it over and pay attention to her body, “no, I’m okay. I’m good.”

“That was pretty badass, Yasha,” Jester says, poking at her ribs. Yasha bats her hand away playfully.

* * *

 There’s plenty of time on the road to think about Zuala, and to think about Beau. In the nights, winding herself up and bringing herself back down, sometimes it’s Zuala’s face, and sometimes it’s Beau’s, and sometimes the distinction doesn’t matter to her.

But that’s fine. That’s okay. It’s only a fantasy.

It’s just a fantasy.

* * *

 In a couple weeks, after a particularly hard fight, they stop in a town with a proper inn, and she pays for her own room. She’s too tightly wound to feel comfortable shoving down her pants and rubbing one out, not yet, so she sits there for a moment. She lets herself relax onto the bed and remembers the fight, but of course it’s Beau that she remembers. Beautiful, powerful Beau.

When she does slip her pants down, she still sees Beau in her mind. She makes no effort to shake that vision from her mind- what’s the point?- as she presses her fingers against her clit and starts to rub gentle circles. She can imagine that they’re Beau’s fingers instead, or maybe Beau’s tongue- that thought gets a strangled whine out of her, and the sound sends guilt and fear throughout her body but she doesn’t want to stop. She covers her mouth with her free hand, working faster with the other one.

After a moment, she takes her hand off her mouth and instead pulls her shirt up and plays with her chest. She can imagine how pleased Beau would be, to have her hand under Yasha’s shirt. She remembers the way Beau’s gaze raked over her body, the time they were naked in the baths, and it sends heat to her core. She drags wetness up over her clit with two fingers. It wouldn’t be hard for someone (Beau) to finger her. One, or maybe two fingers, (Beau’s fingers), gently curling inside her. She thrusts inside herself and it’s a bit too much, but the hint of pain helps her focus.

It’s a fantasy. That’s all. She’s not cheating on Zuala just by imagining something that will never happen. That’s what she tells herself as she imagines Beau pressing in closer, two fingers deep inside her and a hand over her tit. She breathes deeply through her nose, bites her lip, and forces herself not to make any noise.

It’s hard, to be silent, more than usual. She thinks that maybe it’s just because it’s been so long since she touched herself. She thinks that’s a poor excuse. She finds the perfect angle for her fingers and she can’t help it, the way she gasps, and once she starts she can’t stop herself. Her palm rubs against her clit and she feels tears spark in her eyes.

She closes her eyes and everything becomes so solid. She feels pleasure washing over her, and her body relaxing, finally. She’s so, so close. She keeps up the same comforting rhythm, and she isn’t sure what’s fighting its way out of her throat until she hears it. “Beau,” she pants. It’s dirty. It’s wrong. It’s one thing to imagine, but it’s another to speak it aloud. Quieter, she whispers, “I’m sorry,” but it doesn’t sound very genuine when her body goes taut and she moans “Beau,” again, slightly louder.

Just as there’s a knock on the door and it opens.

And there’s Beau, slack jawed, staring.

The orgasm is ripped from her, unsatisfying, and she pulls her hand away and pulls up her pants as fast as she can. Her shirt is rumpled, and she tries to smooth it as she sits up. It all takes less than three seconds, if she’s any good at guessing, and then she’s somewhat decent.

“What- what is it?” Yasha says, unwilling to say her name.

“I, uh, Jester wanted the room to herself,” Beau says. “So she could commune with the traveller, or something. I can- I’m sorry. You were- holy shit. I’m so sorry, I totally-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yasha interrupts. “It’s fine.”

Beau steps inside and closes the door, but stays on the far side, away from Yasha. “I guess I know why you wanted your own room then.”

Yasha swallows nervously and pretends she doesn’t know what Beau is talking about.

“So, you know someone else named Beau?”

Yasha digs her nails in her palm behind her back, tries to shove every fantasy she ever had about Beau into a box, and answers, “Yes.”

Beau snorts. “You’re a terrible liar.” She moves to sit beside her. Yasha can’t find it in herself to complain. They sit in awkward silence for a moment, Yasha’s brain shutting off in the other woman's presence. “Can I just, I have to ask,” Beau says. “And please just say honestly. Do you want me to leave?”

It takes Yasha a moment to get her thoughts under control and push away the resentment towards herself that’s hanging in the pit of her stomach. Thinking honestly, about the way Beau makes her feel and the situation that they just found themselves in, she can’t answer. But Beau expects an answer. She deserves one. “I,” Yasha whispers. “I don’t know.” She stares directly ahead so she doesn’t have to see Beau's eyes.

Beau reaches out to move Yasha’s head to face her. It’s gentler than Yasha expected from the other woman, and it makes her want to cry. She isn't sure if it's because of the… situation, or because it's been so long since she's been touched so intimately by someone she liked. She doesn't try to figure it out. “Look at me,” Beau says. “If you want me to leave, just tell me. It’s fine. I always room with Jester, she won’t mind another night. You just have to say.”

And there was the problem. Yasha doesn't want Beau to leave. She wants her to stay, and tell her it's okay, and maybe (maybe) she wants Beau to take control and do something. If Beau takes charge, if Beau pushes and doesn’t relent, it wouldn’t be Yasha’s fault if she breaks her promise to Zuala. God knows she has trouble saying no.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Yasha says quietly, and the instant she says that, her mouth tastes bitter. She doesn’t want Beau like that, and she knows Beau wouldn’t want her like that, but now she thinks that Beau maybe expects something to happen.

Of course she does.

Beau leans in, connecting their lips gently, and Yasha kisses back because she wants to. And Beau puts a hand on her thigh and another tangles in her hair, and Yasha lets her because she wants it. Beau swings her legs over Yasha’s, and Yasha doesn’t stop her, even though she feels a bit like she’s about to throw up.

She imagines Zuala, and for a moment she’s not sure who’s kissing her, (who she’s kissing), and then she sees a memory of Zuala in her mind’s eye. Not one of the good memories.

It’s Zuala’s corpse, and the moment she had to hold her cold body before she had to run. She feels the blood on her fingers, even though it’s Beau’s hip she’s touching. She reaches up to touch the side of Beau’s face, to feel the fuzz of her undercut and ground herself- force herself to accept what’s happening- but Beau slips a tongue inside her mouth and all she can imagine is how, in death, Zuala’s tongue had swollen until it almost didn’t fit in her mouth anymore.

She pulls back, choking, her eyes flying open, and sees Beau, concerned and confused. Her muscles lock up, frozen, one hand still pressed against Beau’s hip and the other still on her hair. She remembers Zuala, and her body still feels Beau pressed into it, and she can’t reconcile the part of her that wants to lean back in, the part of her that wants to run away, and the part of her that wants to throw up. Today is not the day she’s going to face this, she realizes.

“Get out,” Yasha says. “Beau. Get out.” And she’s trying so hard not to raise her voice that it just gets quieter. Beau’s face goes from concern to something else entirely. Probably fear. She slides off Yasha’s lap, and Yasha can move again. She scrambles back until her back hits the wall with a thump, and she sees her own panic reflected plain on Beau’s face.

“Yasha?” Beau’s voice breaks.

“Out,” Yasha says, and Beau’s mouth parts slightly before she backs all the way up and then turns and goes out the door.

Yasha puts her hand over her mouth, feeling the ghost of Beau’s mouth and the bile that’s rising up her throat. She takes a moment to try to erase the last few minutes from her mind, but it’s impossible. “I’m sorry,” she says, meaning it entirely. “Please forgive me. Zuala. I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.” She rocks back and forth, letting the tears fall, and the utter shame as she realizes that Zuala must have seen that, wherever she is.

This isn’t something she can take back. She put it out there, and now not only will she lose whatever friendship she had with Beau, she can’t take back the way she betrayed her one love. “You’ll forgive me, right? It was one mistake. It won’t happen again,” she whispers. She swallows, trying to get rid of the taste in her mouth, but it was a mistake, because a moment later she’s leaning over the edge of the bed and spitting out bile.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop feeling disgusting.

* * *

 Jester finds her in the morning before anyone else has woken up. Yasha barely slept at all. “Are you okay?” she asks. “Beau was really worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Yasha says. Jester squints at her.

“She seems to think she really fucked something up, and I wanted you to know that she’s really sorry because I don’t want you to stop being friends,” Jester says. “And it’s okay if you’re not fine. I don’t think any of us are fine, so if you actually are, that’s pretty good for you I guess. But if you’re not, I understand.”

“It’s about Zuala,” Yasha says. She isn’t sure why she’s ready to admit it, but Jester kind of brings it out of everyone, she supposes.

“Oh, fuck,” Jester says.

“Does she know?”

“I didn’t tell her, and I don’t think Caduceus would have. Is that what this is about?”

Yasha shrugs.

“Yasha, Beau says she heard you throwing up.”

“Well I, I had a lot to drink.”

Yasha immediately regrets saying that, because Jester’s eyes go wide and concerned. “She didn’t take advantage of you, did she? I’m so so sorry I told her to leave-”

“Tell her it’s fine,” Yasha interrupts. “I didn’t- I didn’t drink. That was a lie. You know everything is just, it’s complicated. Please just let her know.”

“I think you should talk to her,” Jester says.

“Maybe I will, Jester, thank you,” Yasha says. “Let her know though.”

“I will,” Jester says. The concerned look doesn’t go away as she leaves the room.

Yasha tries to go back to sleep.

* * *

 Once everyone is up they set out on the road again. Beau is the last to emerge from her room. Yasha watches her face as she heads for their cart, but all that’s giving away Beau’s feelings is the red that rims her eyes. Beau, Yasha realizes, is very adamantly _not_ looking at her.

Jester is less than subtle herself, glancing anxiously between the two. Caleb doesn’t seem to be paying attention. Neither does Caduceus, although Yasha knows there’s little that he misses. It’s almost stiflingly awkward. Even Caleb doesn’t say anything- although he usually doesn’t, to be fair. Nott stares suspiciously at Beau. Fjord stares suspiciously at Nott. Yasha stares completely unsuspiciously away from everyone.

They stop for the night after about eight hours, exhausted and sick of travelling. It’s harder than usual when the conversation is mostly small talk and Fjord and Nott trying to figure out what’s going on.

“I can take first watch,” Beau offers immediately.

“You look exhausted,” Fjord says. “No. Me and Caleb can do it.”

“I’m not going to sleep anyway. Just let me,” Beau says. She’s harsher than she usually is, which is saying something.

“I can do it too,” Nott says.

“No,” Yasha says. “No, I’ll do it with you, Beauregard.”

It’s easier to say her full name, because there’s less guilt weighing it down on her tongue. Beau turns around and looks at her properly for the first time that day. She looks… vulnerable, Yasha realizes. Vulnerable and scared.

“Are you sure?” Nott says. “You look tired, too.”

“We’ll wake you and Fjord for second watch,” Yasha says. “I’m not sure if I can sleep tonight either.”

Beau sits on a log facing away from camp, and Yasha waits until the rest of the Mighty Nein have gone to bed before she joins her.

It’s dark, and quiet, and Beau doesn’t say anything when Yasha sits beside her and puts her hands in her lap. They stare out into the distance for some time before Yasha says, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Beau says. “I fucked up, and I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t… fuck up. I fucked up. I made a mistake.”

“Yash, you didn’t make a mistake. You didn’t do anything wrong. I should have figured out that you were uncomfortable.”

“I never said no. I…” Yasha trails off, unwilling to put what had happened into words. “I let you do it. That is on me.”

Beau looks horrified. Yasha can tell, even not looking directly at her, and she wonders how she messed up her words that badly. “You let me do it? That is not- fuck, don’t say that. You didn’t have to say no, you never said yes. It’s my fault. I- I fucked it up because I saw what I wanted to see and I swear, Yasha, I’m not- I’m an asshole, but I’m not- I didn’t mean to-”

“You’re not an asshole,” Yasha says. “And maybe we both made mistakes.”

“I walked in on you,” Beau says. “I didn’t even wait after I knocked. So that makes it my mistake. Like, the original mistake.”

“It wasn’t you,” Yasha says.

“I’m pretty sure it was me, because I remember pretty clearly what happened. Unless someone hit me with a memory spell.”

Yasha takes a sharp breath in. The air is cold, getting colder, and usually cold air helps her clear her mind but everything is just getting more fuzzy. “Listen, Beau-” she has to take another breath, after hearing herself say Beau’s name again- “It’s complicated. Like everything.”

“I’m listening.”

“My heart belongs to someone.”

“Oh shit.”

“I can’t move on from her. I promised her my life.”

“I didn’t know that,” Beau says, quietly resigned. “I’m sorry I’ve been flirting with you so much. I’m not a homewrecker. I mean I am, because- long story, but not- uh-”

“She’s dead, Beau.”

“Oh _shit_.”

“When I was… when you were kissing me, all I could think about was her.”

“I mean… that's fine, I get it. I'm sorry. I'm sure she was real special.”

“I mean I couldn't stop seeing her,” Yasha says. “Broken.”

Beau takes a moment before saying anything. “Is that why you threw up?”

“I, I guess,” Yasha says. “But I kissed you back. I thought if I let you… you know, I wouldn't be betraying her, but it didn't… it didn't work.”

“So you are attracted to me,” Beau says. It's not flirtatious at all, which Yasha appreciates.

“You are very attractive,” Yasha says. Then she realizes that's skirting around the question, and she says, “yes. But I don't- my people mate for life.”

Beau looks down at her lap, and fiddles with the hem of her coat. “What was her name?”

Yasha's mouth turns up into a small smile. “Zuala.”

“That's nice,” Beau says. They sit in silence for a few moments, scanning the horizon.

Yasha looks over at Beau, ignoring the slight anxiety fluttering inside. Beau still looks tense. A bit more than tense, maybe. Her hands are shaking. Yasha reaches out, slowly, to put her hand over Beau's. Beau doesn't move. Yasha thinks that maybe she made it worse, but she doesn't want to take her hand away.

“I fucked up,” Beau says.

“No, you didn't,” Yasha responds automatically.

“Yasha, stop. Just let me- I fucked up, and I don't need you to say I didn't because I know I did. I just need to know if you forgive me.”

Yasha's immediate instinct is to say that there's nothing to forgive, but she knows that isn't what Beau wants to hear. She also knows that Beau doesn't want to hear about how maybe it was her fault too, because that didn't get a good response last time.

In the silence as she tries to find the words, she feels Beau trembling under her hand. Her eyes are red, again, and Yasha can just make out tears forming as she struggles not to cry. It's just more proof that she doesn't know how to handle people. She doesn't know what to say. She pulls her hand back. And every second that she waits, she sees the fear on Beau's face. She hates it. She thinks she's scared Beau, seen her scared, more than she ever wanted to.

“Yasha,” Beau says, and her voice is just… wrecked. She's never sounded so small. “Just please don't hate me.”

“I forgive you,” Yasha says, and Beau lets out a small sob. “I don't think I could ever hate you, Beau.”

“Give it time,” Beau says.

Tears are running down her face, and all Yasha wants to do is wipe them away, so she does. Her thumbs brush over Beau's cheeks, and Beau doesn't stop shaking. She doesn’t know if she’s helping or not.

She scoots closer, turns to the side, and pulls Beau into her chest. At first, she feels Beau grow stiff under her arms, and she gently pats Beau on the back before moving her hand up to the back of Beau's head. Beau softens, and Yasha runs her fingers through her stubbly hair. It’s been so long since she’s been this close to another person, and the emotions threaten to overwhelm her. She doesn't want to cry.

“I don’t ever want to make you feel like that again,” Beau whispers, and oh how much Yasha wishes she could kiss her without her throat closing up and her memories haunting her. Then she chastises herself for saying something so disrespectful to Zuala, just after explaining how much she means to her. She breathes in and out. She grounds herself in the feeling of Beau on her lap, and the feeling of Beau’s hands clenched around her clothes.

“You’re fine, you’re good,” Yasha murmurs, barely loud enough to be heard.

She holds Beau for the rest of the watch, keeping a close eye on their surroundings while Beau almost falls asleep.

“Beauregard,” Yasha says, nudging her. “We’re done. We’re going to bed.”

“Right,” Beau says groggily, pulling away slowly.

Yasha shakes Fjord awake, who goes to wake Nott, and then curls up alone in her bedroll. Beau goes to her bed on the far side of the tent. Yasha misses the weight of her in her arms. After a few minutes of shifting in an attempt to feel comfortable, she opens her eyes and glances over at Beau. She can’t tell if she’s awake.

“Hey,” she whispers. A few seconds go by. “Do you want to come over here?”

She isn’t sure how long it is that she waits for a response. As the words hang in the air, her heart sinks. Perhaps Beau is asleep. Perhaps someone else heard her. Why does she think she can do this and get away with it?

But she hears shuffling, and then Beau drops to the ground beside her. Yasha lifts up her blanket so Beau can drag herself under the covers, but they’re still barely touching. Anxiety bubbles up inside her. She reaches out to put an arm around Beau’s waist. It's reassuring to know that she still won't run, after everything.

Beau wiggles back until they’re pressed together, front to back, and all Yasha can feel and hear and smell is Beau, Beau, Beau. She closes her eyes again, letting herself just exist in the warmth of Beau's presence. She doesn’t want to think, not now, so she doesn't. She falls asleep.

She doesn’t dream.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Yasha so much and I also love Beau and this kind of wrecked me tbh, but it was so cathartic to write after all the EMOTIONS I've gone through since Ashley dropped that backstory! I like Beauyasha even more now but goddamn if they don't both have some shit to work through first.
> 
> Anyway drop me a comment if you feel so inclined, even if it's just a string of emojis. They always make my day (no matter how long it's been since I posted a work).
> 
> Also feel free to hmu on tumblr if u go there @dailylesbianappreciation


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